


wars of the roses

by questionably_fortunate_bamboo



Series: jonsa countdown 2017 [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jonsa Countdown, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-21 15:04:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11359896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questionably_fortunate_bamboo/pseuds/questionably_fortunate_bamboo
Summary: Sansa's first experience with a tourney goes terribly wrong and terribly right.(written for day three of the jonsa countdown - childhood)





	wars of the roses

**Author's Note:**

> i know the ~actual~ wars of the roses were some crazy shit, but here's some cute shit because why the hell not. enjoy!

Sansa dances through the courtyard, carrying a bouquet of roses in her hands. For once, she had been afforded some free time, which she chose to spend picking flowers in the Glass Gardens. Red, white, and blue flowers are nestled in her firm grip as she skips between the stables and the forges. Mostly everyone was inside, due to a visit from some southern lord.

“Sansa, d’you want to play with us?” Theon catches her attention, standing with her brother and half-brother in a corner over by the armory.

“What are you playing?”

“Knights,” says Robb. He and Jon are leaning against a fence, both looking incredibly bored.

Sansa almost accepts, but then remembers her mother’s lessons.  _ Proper ladies never run about in the mud.  _

“I can’t fight,” she says.

“Maybe  _ we _ could fight... for your honor!” Robb says. “It’ll be like a tourney.”

“We can’t use swords. Your mother nearly whipped me when I hit your eye,” says Theon. Sansa remembers the night a few weeks ago when the boys came in for dinner, each sporting cuts and bruises from a particularly rough sparring session. Her mother had snapped at Jon and Theon for being reckless, while Robb received a long, boring lecture about responsibility. 

“An archery tournament, then,” she says, supposing that the worst damage that could come of it would be a gashed fence post. “I’ll dance with the winner at the feast tonight.”

Theon fetches a bow and three arrows. They argue for a few minutes about who will go first, but then decide that Robb will go first, then Theon, then Jon. Her brother prepares his arrow, but she runs up to him, holding out her handful of flowers.

“Wait! You have to ask for my favor!” says Sansa.

“Oh, sorry. Sansa, may I wear your favor?” he asks, bowing for good measure. She giggles and tucks a red rose behind his ear. He shoots his arrow towards the middle of the target. She judges it to be a fair shot, and claps eagerly.

“Sansa, can I have your favor?” says Theon, much less gracefully. She ignores the lack of elegance and secures a white rose on his head. He grins at Robb and Theon and takes aim. Somehow, Sansa finds herself hoping that he’ll miss. 

He takes a while to aim, and then releases the arrow on the edge of the inner circle. Robb huffs in annoyance, but takes his defeat in stride. 

“Lady Sansa, I would be honored to wear your favor and fight for your honor,” says Jon. Sansa grins broadly. She would have never expected Jon to speak so elegantly. She carefully places a vibrant blue winter rose among his curly black hair.

Jon wastes no time aiming, and lets his arrow loose almost as soon as he’s drawn it. It lands with a  _ thud  _ in the center of the target. 

“Aw, that’s no fair!” Theon complains. Sansa applauds vigorously, not noticing someone approaching behind them.

“What’s going on here?”

The four of them whirl around to face an amused Jory Cassel. He doesn’t mention the flowers decorating the boys’ heads, and they seem to have forgotten them in a state of fear.

“I asked Robb, Theon, and Jon to hold a tourney for my honor, and they very nobly agreed,” says Sansa, the words slipping off her tongue like water. 

“I thought I told you boys not to use proper weapons unless you had someone watching you,” Jory says. 

“Really, Ser Jory, I was making sure they weren’t getting into trouble. We had an archery tournament,” Sansa tells him, offering a bright smile. Robb seems worried, but Theon and Jon are paralyzed in fear. They’ll be the ones taking the blame if the four of them get in trouble.

“Are those your arrows?” Robb nods quickly. Jory goes over to inspect the results, taking notice of the arrow protruding proudly from the center circle.

“Who won?”

“Robb wo-,” Jon begins, but Sansa cuts him off.

“Jon did, see?” She points to the arrow in the middle of the target. Jory examines it for what seems like hours. 

“That’s a good shot, Jon. I’m impressed.” He claps Jon on the back and goes on his way. A deep sigh of relief comes from all three of the boys.

“Well, I thought we were fucked!” says Theon.

“Don’t be crass,” Robb mutters. “Thanks, Sansa.” He plucks the rose out of his hair and places it back in her hands. Theon does the same, crumpling a petal in his haste. Jon waits until they’re back in the armory to approach Sansa.

“Why’d you say I won?” Jon asks her. She shrugs.

“Because you did. Ladies don’t lie.”

He gives her a curious look which is quickly replaced with his dark, brooding frown.

“Your lady mother wouldn’t like me dancing with you.” He offers his winter rose back to her, which she accepts reluctantly. “I’m sorry I can’t be your champion.” Sansa doesn’t like it one bit. She goes back to her chambers, determined to find a way of making things right.

Later, at the feast, Jon sits next to Theon at the back of the room and watches Sansa dancing with a crown of blue roses in her hair.


End file.
